Masks and Fears
by The Barefools
Summary: We all have them. How we handle them helps define who we are. Series of oneshots.
1. Severus Snape: Mistakes

Severus Snape paced furiously. Why did the headmaster insist upon him continuing this role? Did

Dumbledore know that he hated this? He grumbled some more, his fists opening and closing tensely. So much could go wrong. So much could be lost in an instant if the slightest mistake happened during these meetings like the one that was about to happen. If he was honest with himself, it scared him.

"I must not fear," he said to himself, beginning the litany he had once read before this terrible thing had started. "Fear is the mind killer."

If he was really honest with himself, he just wanted to leave and spend the rest of his life by himself, doing the things he wanted to do. But that wasn't possible. He had made his mistakes, and now he had to take responsibility for them, no matter how distasteful it was.

"I will face my fear and let it pass through me."

Snape knew his story was no different than the millions of other people who lived in the world. Even muggles, he granted. It was not a comforting thought. Everything that had happened, everything that had turned him into the bitter person he had become could be tracked back to one thing. It was always about a girl. The girl that had shown him kindness. The girl that he had helped to destroy. Oh how it ate at him.

"Only I will remain."

There was a knock on the door. The meeting time had come. His visitor entered and took a seat across from him.

"Potter." The name was spat out, full of all the shame, bitterness, and guilt combined to portray anger. "I hope you have practiced your Occlumency, because I'm not in the mood for more of your failures tonight."

The mask that Severus Snape had spent so long constructing had snapped back into place, just in time.


	2. Hermione Granger: Beacon

I fear for him. I always fear from him. I don't when I started to be so afraid for the boy I call my friend, for the boy everyone else calls the Boy-Who-Lived. Can't they see the torture he has to go through to continue living?

First year. When we went down to get the Stone, I don't think anyone actually thought that one of us might get hurt or even die. Oh, sure Fluffy looked dangerous, but we knew the trick. The Devil's Snare was a joke, to put it simply, and the keys were little challenge to the youngest seeker of the century. Thankfully I learnt to fly by then and could help the boys. Then came the chess set. That was when we finally realised that this is a deadly game, but we had to carry on. The Stone was waiting for us.

Then came the troll, taken care of. I honestly had no clue how the two of us could have defeated a full grown mountain troll. Snape's riddle was a joke to my Muggle-trained mind.

But then he told me there isn't enough for the two of us. I knew he was right.

And I was suddenly afraid.

He would be alone during the confrontation.

I perfectly knew that I would not be much of a help in a real all-out duel, but I just wanted to be there, help him with my intellect, as I always did. Fate denied me the chance. I had to go back and warn Dumbledore. The thought struck me as odd; why didn't we warn him before we came down? But I didn't ponder on it for long, because I wanted to get help to Harry as soon as possible.

He came out all right.

Everything changed then.

During the second year, he was hearing things we didn't and it scared me. When I finally figured out the riddle (both figuratively and literally) I was petrified and could not help him, once again. I was happier when I saw him than when I became un-petrified. When you are petrified, all you can do is think – and I knew that eventually they would cure me; but my mind kept creating scenarios, one worse than the other, all of them involving Harry dying.

But he came out alright.

Third year I was a nervous wreck. Added to my constant fear for Harry, I used a Time-Turner. Sirius Black was at large and I knew (wrongly) that he was after Harry. But he was not, and we ended up saving him, in an adventure that could have catastrophically altered the timeline.

But he came out alright.

Our fourth year, I can't even begin to describe. The ordeal with Ron shook Harry badly, but at least Ron wasn't trying to kill him. Someone else was. Dragons, (and a reconciliation) mermaids, and then the maze. The Maze. From the stands, we could see into the maze slightly, and we definitely saw the middle. I don't think I ever run so fast when I saw two small figures grab the Cup and then disappear.

But he came out alright.

And now it is summer. I'm going to see him tonight once again, after the long stay at Privet Drive. And I'm more afraid for him than ever. Voldemort is back, and he's after Harry.

There is a loud thump and a scream coming from downstairs. I snap my mask into place. I can't show fear in front of him.

I'm his beacon.


	3. Voldemort: Avada Kedavra

"_Avada Kedavra_."

The two most poetic words I've ever heard. They roll off of the tongue effortlessly, like a hot knife slicing quickly through warm butter.

These two words are the basis of my existence. Through them, I was able to become what I am today. Without them, I would still be the boy my fucking mother gave up.

These two words contain power; they are my life blood. With them, I wield an unstoppable power – the one exception aside.

These two words are my greatest tool. I use them to destroy the unpleasantness, the things I do not like. Sweeping through my life, I was able to rid myself of those who hurt me, annoyed me, and angered me.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

To say those two words provide the greatest form of pleasure. The lyrical rhythm provided as they glide out of my mouth brings the desire to say them over and over again.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

"_Avada Kedavra_."

"_Avada Kedavra_."

There exists but a single exception to this, my greatest opus. I spit the name, even when I speak it in my mind: _the Boy-Who-Lived_. My only failure, and I know not what caused it.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

The words are perfect in every way. They are not to blame. My enunciation has been perfected over the course of many decades. It was not to blame. My power, which had just taken the life of the woman only a moment before, was not to blame.

The boy is a thorn in my side. His continued existence is maddening; his natural good luck sickening.

One day soon, I will fix the mistake that tainted the words. I cannot use them to fix their mistake. I will need something else. Something I have not yet considered. Something I do not yet know.

I am Lord Voldemort, and I do not fail.


End file.
